


A Brief Goodbye

by Rubydoll



Category: The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, lotr - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubydoll/pseuds/Rubydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur visits his brother before the Battle of Dale which took place during the War of the Ring. Sauron sent Easterlings to strike in the north meaning to seize the land rich in resources and to fortify the forces attacking Mirkwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Goodbye

With age came wisdom. Or at least, that was what Bofur had always thought. But even though his beard was now streaked with grey, he didn't feel any wiser. In fact he still felt the same as he had all those years back when he had decided that joining a quest to slay a dragon and reclaim a long lost fortune was a great idea. 

He tightened his wrist guards, checking the fit, and sighed. His armour was finely crafted, worthy of an heir of Durin. Surely out of place worn by a dwarf of no noble heritage, born into a race living in exile? Perhaps if he were prouder he would have gone into battle wearing the simple garb that suited him better. But he was not foolish; armour would protect him much better than pride. 

Picking up his mattock and letting it fall easily against his shoulder, he walked through the halls, trying to keep out of the way of others rushing here and there. They were preparing for war, and they had little time. But Bofur had one thing to do before he left. 

He smiled as he saw his brother, nose buried in a cookery book. He was probably planning his next meal. Bombur didn't seem to realise he was there until he greeted him. 

"It already takes six dwarves to get you to the dinner table - I hope you're not looking up anything that means you'll need a seventh!"

Bombur closed the book and placed it aside. He didn't smile at the joke. "You're going to fight then?"

"Aye, I thought I'd give it a go," Bofur said. "It's been a while since I've cracked a skull with this thing."

"I should be going with you," Bombur stared at his fingers. "This is my home too."

Bofur propped his mattock against the wall and sat down in the chair next to the massive couch which had been specially made for his brother. "Hey, don't talk like that now. You shouldn't be going - _I_ shouldn't be going. None of us should. We've already fought for this place once, we deserve some peace," Bofur sighed and tried to force a smile. "But I suppose we don't always get what we deserve. Especially not in battle."

Bombur rested a hand on his brother's shoulder; he knew to what his thoughts had turned. The Battle of Five Armies. They had fought to defend their newly reclaimed home and the price in blood had been high. Three of the thirteen dwarves that had set out together were lost, and the death of two in particular was mourned the most bitterly. "They were the best of all of us."

"Aye, that they were," Bofur always tried to remember them fondly but the wound of their loss never seemed to heal. The two princes should not have been the ones to die. They were fine young dwarves, their lives ahead, every choice still yet to be made. Erebor should have been theirs. Bofur had often wondered what they would have been like had they lived. Fili would probably have grown more serious as he matured but Bofur doubted he would have ever lost that streak of mischief, a grin hidden by his moustache. He would have made a fine leader someday, fierce when necessary but merciful too. As for Kili, Bofur couldn't imagine him ever without a smile - even age could not have repressed his eager enthusiasm. He would have been a brave, bold warrior. 

But it was not to be. Instead they lie in stone with their Uncle, in death as they died, forever by his side. 

"Anyway," Bofur coughed to clear the lump in his throat. "I'm relying on you to keep some sort of order back here, make sure the young lads are entertained and don't think to go running off. And keep everyone's spirits up."

"They won't listen to me. Why should they?"

"They do listen to you. Because you're a legend. They love to hear you talk about our adventure."

"I don't remember half of it, and I'm still not convinced all of what you told me is true!"

"But that only makes them enjoy it all the more - your version of events gets more fantastical every time. All of them would love a sip of that enchanted water so they could have such dreams as you did," Bombur still didn't seem convinced. "Look, just do what you can, all right? Make sure they get food ready, we'll be hungry when we return. Try not to mention the last battle. And keep your chin up. All of them."

He grinned as Bombur scowled at him. He wished he could stay a little longer but time was short. He got to his feet and leaned in to kiss the bald spot on the top of his brother's head. Not that it was really a spot anymore. 

"Don't," Bombur said. 

"What?" 

"Don't say goodbye."

"I wasn't going to," Bofur stepped back. "I'll be seeing you later."

Because Bofur meant to fight well and he intended to return. Last time they had fought for gold, and for the chance to make a home for themselves. This time they were fighting to _protect_ their home - not the mountain itself, its magnificent halls, or anything they had created or crafted within it - no, they were fighting for their brothers who had worked so hard alongside them, for the dwarf-women who had chosen to settle here, for their children, the young ones born here who were truly dwarves of Erebor. And Bofur was fighting for Bombur. He liked to think his brother would be able to take out a few attackers before they overwhelmed him, and the young dwarves who loved hearing his stories would probably fight for him, but if the enemy got that far, it would already be over. Erebor would be lost. All that they had worked for, all that they had loved. 

"Be careful," Bombur told him. 

"Careful?" Bofur picked up his mattock and propped it against his shoulder. "Oh, I aim to misbehave."

As he left, he paused one last time in the doorway with a smile and a tap of his helmet. Then he was gone. 

Bombur closed his eyes, trying to seal the image in his mind. Just in case. Just in case it was the last time he ever saw his brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't come across anything that states either way whether or not Bofur would have fought in this battle. Although the destruction of the ring ultimately meant victory for men and dwarves, they suffered heavy casualties.


End file.
